


Mount Everest but it's a keychain in an ashtray

by regularhothead



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Jason Todd Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:15:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28629417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regularhothead/pseuds/regularhothead
Summary: Just angst.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Reader, Jason Todd/Y/N
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	Mount Everest but it's a keychain in an ashtray

His memories were a painting. 

Before you arrived, the canvas was a selective mix of deep blues and reds, the darker shades overpowering the lighter ones. A teal ocean was set somewhere in the middle ground. You remember distinctively, a small fluff of grey that loomed over that ocean, almost like that of a dark cloud. You never understood this. The darker shades you could comprehend, and the ocean you could figure out, but the dark cloud, you could not. Then you got to know him, and you finally did.

His eyes were a light fog.

The first time you had stared into them, you were mesmerized. You saw no evil in them. But you saw little hope. There was always this intrigue about his eyes that settled into your mind. The eyes were the windows to the soul afterall. But, one’s soul cannot be pure fog, can it? 

He had come over to your house that day, for what seemed to be your millionth date. It was casual, he had brought you flowers as usual, and you noticed his efforts to make the day as special as possible. 

Jason Todd was many things. The complexity of his alter ego was never troubling to you or inconvenient. Yes, you worried about him, and yes, it was harrowing - the thought of him never coming home to you, or getting hurt. But there was purpose there. In his eyes it was evident for you to see how much the small acts meant to him; you had managed to sift that through his fog long ago. How he’d go out of his way to extend his arm to an old woman in need of assistance, or the grin he’d get on his lips when he played catch with the boy who lived two floors below him.

When you brought this observation to him, he was taken aback as usual, commenting on your intelligence and how easy it would be for you to commit murder if you needed to; prompting him to laugh and say something along the lines of, “Remind me to never cross you, doll,” with his eyebrows raised ever so lightly to tease you. 

The laughs had passed, and you both laid together on the couch, with no particular intention. He had took the liberty of leaning forward and gazing at you, just to then, reach his hand towards your face slowly. You were attentive, yes. And fairly inquisitive. So, you watched as he brought his thumb to your bottom lip, tracing his finger over it for a moment - never breaking his gaze. He ceased his ministrations, his arms then wrapping around your waist, laying his head on your stomach; eyes now closed. No more than a second passed and he trembled. 

Your eyes were now curious. You knew him. The parts of him that would tremble in fear. But, what was he afraid of? 

Your eyes flicked over his frame, his eyes now opening at the strength of your stare. You could feel the protruding thuds of his heartbeat against your abdomen. You could hold back no longer. “Why do you do that?” you questioned.

“Why do I do what?”

“Touch me like you’re afraid of something,”

He shifted closer to you, his eyes almost a different shade now.

His eyes were a heavy fog. And you ran straight into the fog, leaving behind everything, your heart in hand, searching for him. And when you found him, he was alone. And undoubtedly scared. But you handed him your heart, with a smile on your face; the one he loved so much. And you pulled him out of his blinding fog.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” he whispered, his eyes boring into your own. And the fog cleared. And you saw him. A landscape unfinished, but beautiful. The shades of blue and red melting together, the grey cloud bursting and spilling out a violet rain on his canvas.

“You’ll never lose me,”

-

His soul, you knew, was a purple rain. His eyes, a teal ocean with a fog in the distance.

His heart, was a fire. Welcoming and warm. But could get too hot, and burn him in the process.

And he was sure of one thing, and one thing only. You were a puff of sweet smoke, huffed into his life. His vision was clouded, no doubt; missing all points of reason at times. Slowly letting the smoke in through his nostrils, taking you in deep. Letting you explore the caverns of his darkness and traumas, taking you in once more before exhaling you out again through his mouth; letting your taste linger on his tongue. You’d kill him slowly, that was for sure. One day stop him from breathing entirely. But surely every addict knows the risks of a high. Yet, you weren't just a high. You were the peak and the bright epitome of his fire.

He yearned the fire, as long as you were the result. And he wouldn’t deny it for a second. It was a habit. The same way you’d manage to leave your keys in his ashtray all the time. The keys to his home- your home, that he had given you, snug with a new keychain. The dark, logoless keychain that you painted two snow covered mountains peaks on, just immediately after you had gotten it. He questioned the symbol, wondering why you’d painted that and nothing else. “The two mountains represent love. It gets cold and foggy and hard to navigate sometimes but you have to have faith in the sun above the clouds. That's worth living for.” you had told him.

-

A part of him wanted to come home and find you asleep. He would never want you to see him once the flames in his heart and the rain in his soul decided to clash. 

It was the world’s fault for making him encounter the clown again. The world’s fault for giving him eternal shit. His soul was at war with his heart, and at this point, neither was going to give up. If he followed his soul, he would surely go with the immoral method and murder Joker, happily accepting the consequences. His heart would be heavy, but it would be worth it. And his heart, dear god, his heart. His heart wanted to find you in bed, sleeping, and climb in next to you as if nothing had happened; shielding you from all of it. And to just see you laying next to him, a sight so majestic, he would have forgotten all his troubles.

But you were like a rainbow, so unpredictable at times. You had been there in the living room waiting for him. And of course, you had already picked out clothes for him to go change into after he showered. You were too damn good to him. It was unreal. It was a dream or some sort of hallucination. Receiving a kiss from you and then stepping into the tub, he chuckled. It was no joke, it was like a pang in his gut.. or a realization. He had you. And that would make any situation better. A million times better. But, a thought he had- that he didn't deserve you, and that every single situation he had ever gotten himself into was due to his recklessness and stupidity- replaced his happiness.

Then you caught him. Fresh out of the shower, as you were about to check on him. He was putting on his shirt, planted in front of the mirror. He looked in the mirror, and his face fell. It was as if he was staring at this shell of a person. And the way he looked at himself, his scars, it broke your heart. Then he heard you turn on your heels and scurry away from the bathroom door, and he was crushed.

“Princess?”

“Hm?”

Your eyes darted to his frame, admiring the droplets of water that conducted mini races from his hair, soaking the collar of his black t-shirt; which you deduced was the finish line. You wondered who on Earth would really want to harm him. This beautiful man in front of you- who no doubt, used your lavender scented shampoo- was someone you valued dearly.

And then, the thought of his scars brought a few tears to your eyes, his face immediately contorting in worry. 

“Doll, what’s wrong?”

Why was the painting so beautiful? Yet, so... unaware of itself. Does art really matter if the painting doesn’t know how important it is? 'Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming.' Oscar Wilde had written. Could Jason not see what you see?

Your smoke left ash at his feet. You were crumbling.

Your tears fell, his joy faltering with every tear. “You can talk to me, baby” he croaked out, opening his arms for you. He really knew your smoke better than you did. He’d prefer to see the fire in your eyes, and not the act of you dousing yourself with his burdens. But how could you? You cared for him. You fucking loved him.

You simply rose from your spot on the couch, walking into his arms and hugging him, allowing yourself to sob into his already damp shirt. 

He held you. His arms wrapping around your waist, and his chin resting atop your head. “I’ll murder him. I’ll kill all of them, Jay... I’ll-”

“I know, angel... I know,” he whispered, the crack in his voice evident, and the pair of them sinking to the living room floor. Your sobs rang out into the apartment, his shaky breaths and sighs soon following after. 

“They hurt you... I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your face resting in the crook of his neck. 

“Shh... what Joker did wasn’t your fault. Don’t apologize..”

“It wasn’t yours either,” 

He went silent.

And then you understood. He had been hurt so much that it was a defense. A defense mechanism to blame himself and disregard the trauma for what it was. It killed you.

“Jay, no. No, it wasn’t your fault either,” you finally met his gaze with your teary eyes, noticing he had been crying too. Your shaking hands came to his face, cupping his cheeks with quivering lips. “Don’t you ever blame yourself, Jason,” you cooed, not caring of the cracks in your voice.

You watched him break down then. His teal ocean causing a flood. His purple rain went grey, and the fire in his heart ceased to burn. You cradled him, the same way he did you. 

You would stay and finish the painting together. Finger-painting stars as bright as memories and trees as alive as your hope and faith in him.

And he smiled through his tears this time, because he knew you’d be there, to reignite his fire once more. This time, he wouldn't be alone.


End file.
